


hope, hope there's a conversation

by leatherandlightning (floatawaysomedays)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:56:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatawaysomedays/pseuds/leatherandlightning
Summary: Sid sighs like it's unintentional, like he's relieved. Geno doesn't know how he's ever going to sleep like this, without the link between them it feels like he's drifting away, like there's nothing connecting them.He's never felt alone with Sid before."I miss you." Sid whispers, eyes open, watching.





	hope, hope there's a conversation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluejay141519](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/gifts).



> for bluejay141519 aka thebluejayawe on tumblr. gosh I loved writing this and wish it could have been even more for you. thank you to the exchange for making this all possible, and hope you enjoy!!

It's after practice.

They're working hard but there's still easy smiles in the room and Tanger is chirping Dumo for his music choice and Rusty is throwing out suggestions when it happens. Pain lances across his temple, quick and brutal, enough to make him close his eyes and hiss.

  
He has just enough of himself left to realize it isn't his own pain, but _Sid's_. His own pain only an echo. Sid is bent over, head pressed to his knees, fingers knotted into fists close to his temple and Geno's moving before he knows what's hit him, reaching out through the pain to brush his own mind against Sid's.

Sid makes a hurt, wounded animal noise in the back of his throat, and the pain doubles back on Geno so fast it brings him to his knees right there, black spots swimming in front of him as he hears the clamor of the guys yelling for someone, anyone. It's better when he has a hand on Sid's back. Tension bleeds out of both of them when he sweeps it up and and down, eyes still closed. His head is throbbing and he isn't sure where Sid starts and he ends anymore, the fog of pain clouding the usual distance and the mutual space that he can't reach. 

"G," Sid says, and when he grabbed Geno's shoulder, Geno couldn't say- five pins of pressure, barely shaking, are all that matter now. "I'm sorry, G-" _it's okay_ Geno tries to project, words getting balled up and muddy in his throat. _we'll be okay. it's okay._

It still hurts to reach across and he's not sure any of it is translating or even sinking in because when he looks at Sid he doesn't seem relieved at all, only distant.

_

Bonds aren't anything like the romances make them out to be.

He doesn't have a real, solid bond until he commits to a team. In Russia bonds are foolish, romantic things but Geno had studied them anyway in a sort of fascinated haze. Wondering what it would be like to have someone know every part you were willing to relinquish to them, and to have it work both ways.

Now that he has a pair and a team and can move through each telepathically, shuffling them like cards in a well worn deck, he would describe it as a double edged sword. He can get his point across easier by projecting than actually attempting to explain and he can connect from a range that is by most standards, impressive.

It takes him months to get to that point with new teammates. He has to build the idea around the person, hoard pieces of them to himself so when he wants to reach out he can call up certain pieces and then reach out. When he wants to yell at Sasha he only has to think of a too wide smile, a wolf and a deep, dark red before he can reach across the divide and hassle him. 

Sid's on a whole other level. He'd been scouted as a child for his abilities, both on the ice and telepathically. He could bond to almost anyone immediately, without even meeting them. The scouts had said he might be the most sensitive player to ever play.

At ten, they had been predicting how soft he would be, how protected he would need to be. Geno had met him in person and thought the exact opposite, had wanted to put up every wall he could imagine because it seemed like Sid could see right through him to the other side, see everything he was and everything he wasn't.

Sid wasn't a liability, he was a force of nature.

Sid has proven to be incredibly sensitive to the team individually, and the dynamic overall. He can feel each of them as if they're a piece of himself. He'd once described it to Geno as little puzzle pieces sinking into place. "It just feels...right." He'd said over beers, right before the playoffs before they'd won their first cup. "Y'know?"

Geno hadn't understood until Sid had dropped his wall and opened the double doors past the mutual space and lead him through each goal of the last game, playing game tape in his own head and spilling confidence everywhere. He brings each piece together in a way Geno could only admire, juggling vastly different personalities into one cohesive picture. Listening and gathering and puzzling it out until all of the pieces fit together.

It's not the kind of fairy tale bond he had read about as a child but if Geno is being honest he never could have imagined anything better.

_

When they're in the same area - the same state, even - it's barely a puddle hop to cross from his mind into Sid's. Geno's done it half asleep once or twice. He's reached out in the middle of a phone call to check Sid's plans and align them with his own. He's disturbed Sid's naps. He's interrupted family dinners to needle him about appointments or obligations.

During the off season, sometimes, it feels like he's actually crossing the ocean, reaching, reaching, reaching for Sid until Sid cottons on and latches on right back, warm and just as real as if they were standing shoulder to shoulder.

This isn't that.

Geno reaches out and it's blank, empty, dark. There's nothing there for him, no surprise, no welcome, no pain, no warmth. He should come in the exam room the rest of the way and close the door but he suddenly feels so, so outside of himself he can't do anything but stand in the doorway and stare at Sid.

"Are you reaching?" Sid asks, hoarse from screaming. He's pale and exhausted and Geno's thrown back to his head injury so fast he's surprised he doesn't have whiplash.

Geno nods. His head aches from reaching but he can't seem to make himself stop even after the doctors told him it would be useless. He's not panicking but there is a cold, dark fear creeping over him each time Sid doesn't reach back.

Sid shakes his head, barely, almost imperceptible if Geno wasn't watching him like a hawk. It looks like it costs him.

Vertigo is half the reason he's still seated. The doctor had said he might struggle with his balance for the next few weeks. He's done skating, for the time being.

The doctor had muttered _blockers_ , shaking his head and looking at his chart and Geno hadn't understood until Dana had taken him aside and explained that sometimes, people took blockers when they needed to enhance focus, or mute focus. There were all kinds of blockers, Dana had said, and not all of them legal. He had been watching Geno carefully. Like he'd known Geno had no idea.

"New dose." Sid adds wryly. "Didn't agree with me."

"Already know." He says, moving from terrified to livid in a heartbeat. "Doctor already say what you fucking do, Sid."

Sid looks chastened for all of two seconds before Geno watches him steel himself, straighten his shoulders like he's bearing weight. Geno can feel it coming like his knee can feel a bad snowstorm two days out.

"I had to-"

He shakes his head, eyes burning. "No excuse, Sid!"

He can't listen to whatever bullshit Sid has concocted to justify what he's done to himself, to them. It was supposed to be them, together, again. Sid had smiled at him on the ice not two days ago after they had clinched, and asked _can you feel it? again?_ and Geno had looked over at Canner and Guentz and Blue belting out party hard later that night and grinned back, thrilled and fond, and said _yes, again._

Geno can't understand what possessed him to do this, to experiment and ultimately cut himself off from everyone when they're on the cusp of it, again.

That first night at Mario's, that first moment in the dark where Sid had held his hand so tight his knuckles were white and managed to immediately connect and project, bright and warm and nervous, had been such a comfort. To be understood and heard after so many days of uncertainty had been a welcome relief. It was like meeting his match, like overflowing. He'll never forget how gut deep grateful he had been, how quick Sid's smile had been in the dark of his room when he'd felt Geno tentatively reach back. A pair bond born of convenience and safety but it never felt that way. Sid always made it feel like he was genuine, like he was just as happy as Geno to pair this way. 

They've lifted three cups together. It never even crossed his mind that this could happen. He'd always just taken Sid in the back of his mind for granted, always assumed Sid would be there at least until they both retired, and then, well. 

Sid had never told him about the blockers, had never let on something was wrong.

"It's just for now." Sid says quietly. "It'll come back."

Like it matters, like Sid hasn't ripped himself away from Geno - from the team. Geno is reaching, screaming _you can't promise me anything_ , but there's nothing. No echo of comfort, no mild frustration directed his way, no guilt.

He wants to kick and scream but his head hurts too much. At this point he'll have a hard enough time driving home on his own. 

And there's no point in yelling, now. The damage is already done. 

Half the team is in the hallway leaning against the wall when he steps outside of the room.

Jake and Dumo and Kris and Phil are blocking his way. They heard it all. He never closed the fucking door.

He puts his head down, determined to bull his way through. If they have questions they can ask Sid. 

Kris walks right up to him and pushes him, into the wall, pulls, pulls, pulls, until they lock eyes. Geno wants to crawl into a corner by himself, he wants to fold himself into his team so deeply he can't tell where one starts and the next ends. He wants to drink, wants to fight. Most of all he wants Kris - the only one to really know, the only one left to really see _everything_ \- to go hold Sid so he's not alone. He grips Kris' undershirt in his own hands for a moment before releasing him and nodding towards the room. Kris knocks their shoulders together, and projects worry, comfort, protectiveness, before he turns away. Geno waits until he's in the room - until he's with Sid, he's with Sid - and the door is closed before he turns to leave. He gathers himself and gets out.

_

Hockey bonds aren't supposed to be like this.

What he has with Sid isn't conventional. 

Most hockey pairs are surface level at best- enough to pass plays and warnings back and forth but no more. There are rumors of pairs that delved deeper and then went bad for reasons across the spectrum. The general consensus is that if a bond goes too far it takes away from the original purpose - hockey.

Geno thinks they're probably right.

_

He avoids the team for two days.

He goes about his business. He makes it to practice on time for two days, manages to go home by himself. No team dinners, no lunch out with Sid or Kris or Phil. It feels like the half in the know are watching him and Sid carefully, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Coach is definitely waiting for him to snap unnecessarily, for Sid to insist on playing in the next game even though he won't be cleared for at least a week.

Nothing is going to happen.

Sid eats his omelets and watches practice with an uncharacteristic distance that puts them all on edge. He looks exhausted with his arms crossed over his chest on the bench, hat pulled low over his eyes.

Geno isn't looking, much.

The bond isn't dead but it is dormant. He can't feel Sid at all, can't decide to poke around in his mind for a few minutes to steal the puck from him at practice, can't check in right before bed to say goodnight. He reaches out constantly at first without even thinking about it, like he reaches for his alarm when he's half asleep.

Nothing reaches back. Sid is still in the dark.

They're not communicating at all, now, and it shows. Geno knows he's closed himself off more than usual. He's tired and hungover and hurt and he doesn't want to project anything that might affect the team negatively. His walls are up more often than they're down. He's not connecting the way he usually does with any of the team, even the core, and it's harder to get his point across. He didn't realize how hard he was leaning on projecting his intent and his mood until he had to verbalize it all. He didn't realize how often he just projected to Sid what he wanted to say and Sid just translated with a laugh or a glance or a nod. 

It's..unsettling.

It's shaken him more than he could have ever predicted. He's never felt this alienated, this estranged, before. 

They have a home game and Sid finally corners him after practice that morning. His hair is still wet. Sid has his arms crossed over his chest. He's looking at a point somewhere over Geno's shoulder. At Kris, maybe, if Geno had to guess.

"The guys are coming over." Sid says, no nonsense. It's not an invitation, but it never had to be, before. Before it was a feeling humming through Sid, bleeding through each of them until it was like another heartbeat, _team, team, team_.

"Okay." Geno agrees. He's been backing Sid's plays longer than he can remember. The team dynamic isn't the same without Sid, and this won't fix it, but maybe there is something to be said for a semblance of normalcy in the midst of a crisis. 

Besides, team naps.

There is nothing quite like being surrounded by teammates before a game. Sharing a floor at a hotel comes close but Sid is well aware that Geno's favorite thing is to be sequestered on the upper level of his home while they filter their teammates anxieties and drift off together.

It won't be the same, but at least he won't be alone at his place staring at the ceiling. 

"Okay," Sid breathes back, lips hitching into a small smile, bruising under his eyes stark. "Thanks."

Geno shrugs a shoulder. He's mad and hurt and alone but that doesn't mean he's going to sabotage their game day routine much less his favorite part of it. He's an asshole but, come on.

Guentz is laughing at the table with Canner and Bjugs when he gets there. They're tossing something across the table into a shot glass. Canner crows, arms high over his head, when he banks one in.

Cully is shaking his head in the doorway leaning against Rusty. He smiles as Geno comes in and drops his bag by the door. They seem to be having a back and forth but Cully manages an easy, "Kids these days."

Geno hums, he's surprised they haven't fired up any video games but maybe it's some weird, pre-game competition.

"Sid's kids." Geno says.

Cully outright laughs, looking down as Rusty hands him a takeout container with two forks. "He's upstairs already."

Geno didn't ask and didn't want to know but he nods along anyway, making for the stairs.

Phil and Horny and Kris and Dumo are in the living room and he waves a hand at them in acknowledgement before climbing. 

He doesn't know if he's making the right choice to be here. He's never had the urge to knock on Sid's door before but Sid's always known, always felt how close Geno was. There's no part of Geno that can reach Sid like that now.

He opens the door.

Sid's already in bed with the lights out, curled up on his side, eyes wide open. "Hey." He wants so badly to reach out and have Sid open up, to know what he's thinking, what he's feeling. He wants to ask, he wants Sid to shush him mentally or pull him out of his confusion. He wants the blanket of comfort that this time usually is for them. The team gathered in various stages of asleep and awake and curled up together.

Sid lifts the blankets, watching him silently.

Everything is the same, everything is different. He closes the door and gets in bed.

Sid sighs like it's unintentional, like he's relieved. Geno doesn't know how he's ever going to sleep like this, without the link between them it feels like he's drifting away, like there's nothing connecting them.

He's never felt alone with Sid before.

"I miss you." Sid whispers, eyes open, watching.

This, of course, is exactly what Geno wanted and at the same time the complete opposite. He wanted them on the same page, wanted to feel exactly what Sid is feeling. But in this, too, they're exactly the same. Geno misses him in the back of his mind, being without him is torture but at least he can still access the team. He shifts closer, running his fingers in Sid's hair until Sid closes his eyes and swallows hard. He doesn't understand why it has to be like this, why Sid did what he did, but it's obvious it's causing him pain even now.

Geno can't rifle through his emotions but he can see Sid's uneasy. "Miss you too." Geno whispers back, and Sid exhales hard, shifting until he's tucked himself into his usual nap position under Geno's chin, his ear pressed to Geno's chest. 

"Can you-" He grips the edge of the sheet and releases it as Geno touches his knuckles, gentle. "Tell me?" Sid asks, careful.

Of course, Geno thinks, of course Sid is aching to be able to cycle through each of his team mates downstairs to check on each of them before he naps, Geno usually side-alonging for the ride as Sid reaches each person and moves on until they both relax and fall asleep.

Geno closes his eyes, pictures the bench, the number, feels Tanger reach back, knock into him and push back and wink out easy.

"Kris," Geno starts, and Sid settles, the tension bleeding out of him as Geno meanders through their assembled teammates until they're both breathing deeply. 

"Thanks." Sid says and Geno doesn't have to reach to feel how heartfelt it is, how honest. 

 

_

They lose. 

Sid watches practice. Sid goes to see the trainers. Sid wears his hat pulled down low over his eyes and won't talk to reporters. Sid sees three specialists. A week starts to turn into two. They lose two more games at home. They lose another three away to make it five.

Geno can't rouse himself let alone the team. He can't seem to make anything connect, can't seem to find it in himself to score.

They travel to Florida and work their way up and lose two more out of three. They lose to Washington.

Geno can feel Sasha's eyes tracking him, can feel the outline of his concern at the edge of his mind. He gets into Sasha's backseat without a word. They get mildly drunk in the den, Nicke tsking at them both as he flicks through channels.

Geno doesn't curl up and put his head on Sasha's shoulder and close his eyes. He doesn't fist his hand in the hem of his ridiculous shirt. He doesn't let Sasha read his mind. But the last one is a close thing.

Sasha shakes his head, curses blockers in Russian and then again in English so thoroughly Nicke's eyes narrow.

"Why?" Nicke asks, "What was the point?"

"I don't know." Geno answers, watching Sasha shake his head. 

_

A slapper of a game winning goal and for half a second he's bowled over by sweeping affection so thick and warm he has to close his eyes and lean heavily on Phil and Kris to catch his breath in the huddle they've created before he can skate on. It's almost as startling as an electric shock.

"Nice." Phil says when they're on the bench, and then, in the next breath. "Alright, what the fuck was that?"

Kris is staring at him with wide eyes, mouth set. He's barely smiling but he's radiating hope. "Sid."

He nods once at them both. It's gone as quickly as it came leaving Geno exhausted and wrung out and very thankful they only have a few minutes left of nonessential play before he can go back to the locker room.

Sid is waiting, watching them all file in with head taps and smiles. Geno waits his turn, taking Sid aside before even sitting in his stall.

"Felt." Geno says, tipping his head down to touch Sid's. "You."

"Yeah?" Sid asks, curious, brushing his thumb back and forth over knuckles. "Just now?"

"After goal."

"Oh." Sid says, pink. Geno is blocking them from the room, has them half in the hallway.

"Reach?"

Sid nods. It's faint but Sid's there. It feels like he's light years away even though Sid's head is resting on his shoulder now, but he's there.

Relief pours over him bleeding over into Kris and then Dumo and then Guentzy and on and on until they whole team is pulsing with it.

Sid's pale when Geno pulls back and he instantly regrets his attempt after he sees the toll it's taken. He can't regret how relieved he is, but he doesn't want any of this to tax Sid anymore than it already is. "Okay?"

Sid hitches his mouth up, wry. "Tired."

"Still there." Geno says, wondering. "How?"

"Told you." Sid answers. Geno wraps an arm around his shoulders, guiding them back. There's no way Sid could've known their bond would still be whole after their ordeal but Geno doesn't argue. Sid's sheer stubbornness is so well-documented Geno wouldn't put it past him.

_

The last specialist has decided that Sid should stop holding things back from Geno, from the team. That the blockers were harming him, yes, but keeping monumental secrets locked up is also testing his limits more than it should be. 

The combination, they say, is damaging the bond immensely. 

Sid had asked him to come over in a fit of resigned frustration but now seems to be conflicted. 

Geno gets it. Secrets are supposed to be secret. Sid shouldn't be forced to share some of his moments just because he's paired. 

"You don't understand." Sid's staring down at his hands, turned away. "What it was like, for me. Without them."

"You can tell me." Geno pleads, wide open, honest. He's seen Sid drunk after a cup win, he's seen him so concussed he couldn't come out of the dark. He's watched Sid fall over laughing on the ice underneath a pile of their teammates, watched him curl up crying quietly on an exam table alone. Better yet Sid has seen the worst of Geno and stayed, seen him wasted and stupid and sweaty and angry and bleeding after a bad call. "Can tell me anything, Sid. Everything."

"I know." Sid closes his eyes, shakes his head. "I know."

It's like being hit by a train.

Sid sitting on an exam table and listening to someone much taller in a white coat with glasses and papers explain something to a frowning Troy, only catching every other word. "for the best," And then Troy uncrossing his arms and shaking hands with the man and two new pill bottles and a white paper with check marks. Sid on the ice and a kid crying by the boards, parents yelling at him from the stands, white hot anger scorching Sid. Someone with a mustache telling Sid that he can't bleed mentally like that, doesn't he know better? He'll never be a team player if he can't get himself under control.

Troy frowning at the fridge, crossing things off a paper cutout. Three new bottles. Sid pulling himself up off the ice, once, twice. Blood in his mouth the first time, pulling himself out of a deep mental haze the second. Sid staying down the third time, curling up into a ball, closing his eyes until the dark takes him. Sid's teammates staring at him, muttering freak under their breath when he passes, refusing to reach out to him at all. Learning to lock down every piece of himself. Each doctor prescribing things until someone suggests mediation and then therapy and then techniques for focus and then more pills.

And, finally, locking pieces of himself away mentally. 

Sid watching Geno in that little room at Mario's, quiet and focused and nervous and ready to be everything but holding back more than half of himself, just in case, just in case.

When Geno claws himself up out of it he's shaking and Sid is sitting on the floor.

"Sid." He croaks from the bed, reaching out with his hand until Sid shrinks back, shoulders shaking. He can't believe he didn't know.

"I had to." Sid says, hoarse. "I'm sorry. I had to, G. I'm so sorry."

"No," Geno replies getting on the floor, tugging at Sid's arms crossed over his knees until Sid relents and lets himself be held, nose buried in Geno's chest. "No, Sid, please."

"I was too much." Sid whispers like it's fallen out of him. His eyes are squeezed shut even in the dark. Geno's shirt is damp. Geno tightens his hold, wants to reach back out but can't make himself delve into it all over again without becoming intensely angry. He wants to focus, wants to be honest. "I want too much."

"Full of shit." Geno says simply. "Not too much for me, for team."

"Maybe not now." Sid hedges. "But later on. When the buildup is gone and it's full strength. I don't want to hurt any of you. It's not-G, I can't help it but it's not fair to you, to the team." Geno wants to find every doctor, wants to get Troy on the phone and yell until he's hoarse.

"Kris say," Geno starts, breath gusting out of him suddenly as he remembers. "He rather have real you." He can feel Sid holding still like he can't quite bring himself to respond. "Blockers not worth it, Sid."

"I don't know how to play without them, anymore." Sid says. "It's been so long, G."

"So we learn." Geno says, blunt enough to make Sid still. "We fix." 

_

 

He gets some rink time after practice.

He has a new pair of skates he wants to break in, he needs to clear his head for three hours. It's an excuse but it's normal for him to request time by himself so he only garners a few odd glances before everyone files out.

Sid has his skates on and his stick in his hand. His hair is getting too long, curling in the back as Geno follows him out.

Sid only turns around once, right before they step out.

Geno smiles at him and he grins back, quick and a little nervous around the edges, before skating out. Sid skates one lap, slow, then another.

The third he takes at breakneck speed a rush of air and snow following him as he passes Geno, turning the corner effortlessly.

"Show off!" Geno yells, aiming a puck towards the boards near Sid to earn a laugh and cover the way he's lost his bearings slightly, gone breathless from Sid taking a quick lap. It works. Sid laughs helplessly, stick handling the puck and barely aiming for the opposite net, two touches and two hundred feet and it's nothing but net.

Geno raises his arms and his stick over his head as he skates over to gently crush Sidney against the boards. He's grinning, warm and pliable against Geno without his pads and gear on. He's breakable, and he goes easy, gloved hand slipping off Geno's back as they skate away together to center ice.

They used to do this when they first bonded. At first it was just good fun, kind of like hide and seek, except it was skating with your eyes closed with another person trying to pass you the puck. Sid taps his stick against Geno's skates, a familiar touch that never gets old, an unspoken question. Geno knocks the back of his hand against Sid's chest, gentle answer across the dot, and then under his chin once so Sid will glance up from the ice.

"Okay." Geno says, serious. "Be okay, Sid."

Sid closes his eyes, grip around his stick tightening as he looks back down and away. "Yeah."

Geno closes his eyes, reaches. Sid hesitates and then reaches back pulling them both into that mutual space they usually inhabit during a practice. Geno hears Sid skate off, slowly, can feel him now like a storm brewing, heavy.

Before it was always a bare hum of awareness he really had to reach for, had to focus actively, constantly. Now it's almost instantaneous.

 _behind net_ Geno thinks, and the resulting surge of yes tips him over onto his ass on the ice.

Sid's worry overwhelms him next, and he winces as he sits up, head aching.

"G?" Sid asks, kneeling, terror rolling off of him. His hands are hovering over his shoulders. "Can you hear me?"

"Course can hear you." Geno says, rolling his eyes. "No, first day on skates, Sid."

Sid looks at him, wry, sits back a little. "Asshole."

"Your asshole Pair." Geno counters, and then Sid is flooding him with a tidal wave of warmth that feels so deep he could drown in it. "Sidney." Geno whispers, hand fisted in Sid's shirt in the last few moments.

"I'm sorry." Sid says, instantly, pulling back. "I can't-"

 _don't you dare_   Geno thinks so hard Sid flinches. He grabs Sid's shirt and pulls him down until Sid's head is on his chest. "Doctor say keep pulling back never get anywhere."

  
The burst of frustration makes Geno laugh. It's so unspeakably Sid to be exasperated at him, and he's missed the gale force of it.

  
He had no idea how deeply Sid felt it, but he's missed it.

  
"Keep this from me. All this time." Geno shakes his head, still can't quite believe it. There's the hum of a headache building behind his eyes but if he's not focusing on it it's almost unnoticable. "Pair for ten years. Think I can't handle?"

  
Sid shakes his head, shushing noise against his jersey. "I couldn't handle it."

  
"You?" Geno asks, touching Sid's hair until his eyes slip closed. "Not handle something? Not possible, Sid."

  
"I was scared." Sid admits, "Still am."

  
They're quiet for a few moments. Geno can feel the swirl of anxiety in the back of Sid's mind, can feel it threaten to take them both down.

  
"Practice makes perfect." Geno says, knocking their shoulders together as Sid's lips tick up.

  
"That's my line."  
_

  
Geno wouldn't deny that Sid's exceptional. Geno wouldn't even deny that he's the most headstrong hockey player he's ever shared head space with, and that's saying something.

But Sid's not impossible.

  
Guentz had suffered a migraine for less than a week before he'd adjusted to skating next to Sid again. Rusty had mild vertigo for the first day until he'd regained his equilibrium.

  
Kris continues to complain about everything even though everyone can feel his bone deep joy when he's on the ice with Sid.

  
None of them can stop smiling, not even Phil.

 

 

 


End file.
